


Cast the Little Prince

by Tsume_Yuki



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And he's not taking crap from nobody, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, He's reborn as Harry Potter, Rebirth, Regulus Black Lives, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 15:05:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4184388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsume_Yuki/pseuds/Tsume_Yuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regulus Arcturus Black dies a tragic death in a cave, trying to stop Voldemort. The Fates decide he deserves another chance for his heroic efforts. He is reincarnated, as Harry Potter. Now armed with the memories of his past life and mistakes he sets out to stop Voldemort and change the Wizarding World. A prompt by savya398</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Regulus

_1\. The brightest star in Leo_

 

Regulus Arcturus Black lived for a very short amount of time when he was compared to wizards such as Albus Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel. Very short indeed, only just making it past his eighteenth birthday before he kicked the bucket.

Not by choice, that was to say. Well, that point could be argued.

It hadn't been necessary for him to be the one to die in that cave, it hadn't been necessary for it to be him to retrieve the Dark Lord's Horcrux.

He could have passed the information on to the Order of the Phoenix, wiped his hands free of the entire situation and fled for safer waters. Left England to self destruct under its own failing political climate. Just taken Kreacher and disappeared from the face of the wizarding world. Lived out the rest of his life in one of the heavily warded Black properties.

He wouldn't have had the freedom he'd always believed was owed to him while growing up, but he'd have been safe, content even.

And yet, he'd refused to run.

He'd always suspected his name would eventually rub off on him. Mother had been asking for trouble, naming her son after a lion.

Regulus. The brightest star in the Leo constellation. The little prince of the lion.

Sirius should have been given his name, a name relating to a lion would have suited Sirius better than it suited him. Sirius lived brightly, Sirius lived as bold as a lion should.

Not Regulus, who'd always stuck to the shadows, always worked better from behind the scenes, twisting and manipulating his way through life as best he could.

Only ever putting himself on the line when there was a fifth ace up his sleeve, a sixth hidden in his pocket. Never truly painting a target on his head until he held all the cards and then some. He never risked everything.

Until that day in the cave.

Where he'd looked Kreacher in the eye and ordered the house elf to keep feeding him the potion, to keep going until it was all gone. To prioritise fleeing with the Horcrux above all else.

This had been his moment, where he was to be as brave as the lion he was named after.

With no one watching, no one there to witness this bout of Gryffindor bravery. As if it had never happened.

Sirius would have been proud.

That had been in his thought as he cupped water between his palms, pressing his lips to the cool surface and already aware in the back of his mind that it was already too late, that a skeletal hand was enclosing around his ankle, decomposed matter holding strong against the sturdy leather of his dragon-hide boots.

The water had enclosed all around him, dragging him down, and the last thing that Regulus Arcturus Black saw was Kreacher's wide, terrified eyes, his spidery fingers clutching at the wand Regulus had dropped.

He'd loved that wand, taken brilliant care of it since it'd chosen him at the tender age of eleven. Phoenix core and Laurel handle and Silver Lime wood body, perfect for the mind arts. Something Regulus had always been exceptionally talented at. It was how he'd managed to keep his wondering thoughts from being brought to the Dark Lord's attention.

 

Looking back on it was the murder of Bernard Vance that had Regulus standing back and looking at the Death Eaters with new eyes, wiser eyes.

This was not what his mother had preached about. He had stood and watched as Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape murdered a man, a pureblood man, in cold blood. For standing on the opposing side.

This was not what he'd been told.

All pure blood was precious. That's what his father had always taught them. With so much muggle influence, it was important to keep blood as pure as possible, but for that, they needed as many pureblood as possible.

Killing them off for political views just meant inbreeding would ruin the purebloods forever.

 

It was the cave, the episode with Kreacher, that had solidified his change though.

Kreacher was his friend, when Sirius left the house elf had been his only friend during that year long wait for Hogwarts. Kreacher had kept him sane, and ever since then Regulus was unafraid to admit to himself that he held the family's servant close to his chest, as his dearest friend.

It saddened him, that Kreacher had been forced to witness his death.

But the house elf was still alive. He would finish the task that Regulus had set to him, and the Dark Lord would lose his Horcrux.

That was what mattered here.

Out of all the people to stand against Voldemort, it was he, Regulus Black, the second son, the spare, that would strike the worst blow. That hardest.

The one who had always been looked over, despite his outstanding grades, despite the spells he created, the boundaries he pushed. They had all underestimated him.

Even he himself.

Never had he believe he would be putting his life on the line, throwing it all away to strike one blow he couldn't even fully complete on his own.

And yet, it felt right. He had done something important, had been more than just another clog in the machine.

Regulus Black died with a smile on his face and undead hands wrapped around his body.

 

 

 

Nine months later, Harry James Potter opened his eyes, a smile on his face and Regulus' reborn soul in his chest.

 


	2. Beginning

_1._ _The event consisting of the start of something_  
_2\. The act of starting something_  
 _3\.  Take the first step or steps in carrying out an action_

 

 

It took him three months for all the implications of what was currently happening to settle in Regulus' mind. Three months in which he'd had no control over his body, unable to do anything other than lay and cry. His neck was still not strong enough to support his head, he could barely move from whatever position that his new parents place him in. He could hear voices while on the other hand his baby vision was unable to truly look at anything that was more than a foot away from his face, and even then it was difficult to make out the object.

Most irritatingly of all, this body had no control whatsoever.

If he got angry over his predicament, the body cried.

If he got frustrated that he couldn't get anything done, the body cried.

If he got depressed and just a little scared over the fact that he had no idea what was going on, surprise surprise, the body cried.

Part of him felt sorry for whoever had been lumped with his reborn self as a baby, while another part of him wanted to do nothing but scream, to lash out at the world for what was happening.

He didn't want to be reborn, he'd been content with his death, he'd made an impact in the end, helped in the fight against Voldemort. He'd been the one to take the step and bring that monster down. It was him.

Not James Potter, not the Ministry, not Albus bloody Dumbledore.

It had been Regulus Black that struck the blow, and even if only he knew of it, he could live with that, so used to working in the shadows as he was.

What he could not live with was this damn infant body. Or, so he thought.

Because on his third month, trapped in this stupidly small body, something amazing happened, something that completely floored Regulus.

 

He saw Sirius.

 

 

He'd been laid out on the sofa fabric of the couch, nothing like the hard leather that he'd grown used to, living in the Black family townhouse as he had his previous life. It was comfortable on his infant back, with enough give that it was pleasant on his malleable skull, but sturdy enough to give him the support needed.

 With nothing better to do, he'd spent the vast majority of his time sleeping, only waking to suckle some milk from his mother's breasts and then sleep some more.

It was a boring lifestyle, especially when one compared the fact that, twelve months ago, he'd been in nothing but a constant barrage of spell-fire. He could remember the steps of battle as if it were a dance he'd performed just yesterday. The right moments to duck, to flick spells away from his form and when to return fire. There was more of a grace to battle than any other he'd met before credited, as far as Regulus was concerned. He enjoyed it.

Not the outcome, the idea of death as the only alternative to a victory.

But putting his life on the line, having his adrenaline thrumming through his veins, burning through his muscles. The way his magic would move around his form, twisting and curving, his only partner in every stage of the dance.

After years of being cooped up in Grimmauld Place, of scheming and observing from the shadows, it'd been a release. A release to put on a mask, to become a faceless nobody where there was only the performance, the steps of the dance that was the battle of life and death.

Was it a respectable thing for him to enjoy as a noble heir? No. His parents would have never understood it.

Orion was of the opinion Lords should be sat behind the lines, pushing their chess pieces into battle and only dictating the outcome from a strategically safe position.

Walburga thought that anything other than constantly manipulating those around oneself was below a pureblood. So Regulus Black had learnt the game, he'd learnt how to play, and more importantly, how to win. But it wasn't the only game he played.

In the safety of the Room of Requirement, he'd learnt how to duel, how to fight. Most importantly of all, he'd learnt how to survive.

It had always amused him, how if Sirius had treated the house elves better, they might have one day told him of the Room of Requirement. Then the Marauders would have had the ultimate base they'd always dreamed of, all the power of Hogwarts at their fingertips.

Yet, Sirius hadn't, none of them had thought of the brilliant resource that was a house elf.

But Regulus had never been like Sirius. Where Sirius had been cruel to Kreacher in retaliation to the house elf's behaviour, Regulus had been kind. Where Sirius had ignored Kreacher, Regulus had listened. He'd gained his most trusted ally as a result.

It wasn't Sirius' fault, the animosity between him and Kreacher. Kreacher had been projecting their parent's opinion, had copied Orion and Walburga's distaste of their oldest actions. And Sirius had hated Kreacher because he'd seen him as their parents' agent. He'd been the enemy to Sirius, just as Sirius had been Kreacher's enemy as soon as he'd been sorted into Gryffindor.

Regulus had been sat between them for that first summer, not sure where he stood. Until he got sorted into Slytherin.

Then Sirius had stopped associating with him altogether, too busy clinging to his Gryffindor friends, too busy proving he was nothing like his family.

It's stung the younger brother, knowing that his elder could just walk away from him like he was nothing. But Regulus had stuck to the family motto.

Always Pure. Not just of blood, but of heart. Sirius never seemed to notice that as he got older, the Slytherins retaliations seemed to lessen. He never noticed his brother working in the shadows, to make sure those vicious, life altering curses never reached the older Black.

Just like he worked to make sure none of the younger Slytherins ever got caught in the Marauder's schemes. Always working from the shadows, always effecting the bigger players but not quite one himself, that was Regulus' Modus operandi. Always had been, always would be.

He'd not spoken to his brother in years, not even seen Sirius in the flesh since a Death Eater and Order of the Phoenix clash four months before his death. Thus, it was understandable that he was quite shocked to see the man's grey eyes glittering as he grinned down at him.

For a moment, he'd just laid there, staring up at the oh so familiar face. Sirius looked a little different, maybe a year or so older, but it was still undeniably him. Sirius hadn't smile at him like that since he'd left for his first year at Hogwarts, back just before it had all started falling apart. It'd been years since his older brother had looked at him with such warmth, since he'd seemed so damn happy to see him.

Without thinking too much on it, Regulus held his hands up, reaching out for the older male and watching awed as Sirius gave a bark of laughter.

"I think this's the first time he's been awake while I was here."

Two big hands, so very big against his infant body, plucked him up and off the sofa, and soon enough Regulus found himself nestled in the crook of his older brother's arms.

Discomfort raced through his limbs as he laid there, still staring up at Sirius' humongous form, the fact he was so very small and so very delicate only just hitting him now. Sirius could hurt him so easily, could injure him without even trying. But his older brother wouldn't do that. Not to such a small child, not to a baby.

No matter how bad things had gotten at home, Sirius had never hit him. Words had been thrown around, between the both of them really. When Regulus had been young and stupid, when Sirius had been young and stupider.

Looking up at his older brother, he could tell the mischief was still there, still simmering beneath the surface. Only, there was a seriousness to the older Black's face now, stress lines where there had once been smooth skin. The war was taking a toll on Sirius, that much was evident.

"How's my precious little godson then?" Godson?

Regulus blinked slowly, staring at Sirius a little more as the man shifted about to greet his approaching parents. Things were slowly starting to fall into place now.

Firstly, Sirius was his godfather. By extension, this meant whoever his parents were, at least one of them had to be good friends with his older brother. That left pitifully few options.

As far as Regulus was aware, his brother had never really had a close friendship with a female. There had been quick relationships, a few weeks of playing around, but never anything serious. Which meant it was most likely his new father that Sirius was on friendly terms with. He could think of three boys that instantly fell into this category.

He instantly crossed Peter Pettigrew from the list. That boy was the least likely to marry a girl right out of Hogwarts -judging by Sirius' lack of drastic aging, it clearly hadn't been too long since his death- simply because he was lacking such obviously desirably qualities. No, he didn't have to worry about being the son of that talentless lump.

Well, maybe he was being a bit unkind there.

Peter Pettigrew wasn't so much a talentless wizard as he was an ordinary one. He'd been above average in Transfigurations, and perhaps in any other year, he'd have stood out a bit more. But no, his year mates had been extraordinary.

James Potter, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were the students to beat when it came to that year group, Pettigrew had never stood a chance.

Perhaps that, coupled with the fact he seemed to insist on surrounding himself with the most popular and privileges boys in his year group was what he resulted in his less than pleasant tendencies. The cruel undertones the Marauders had always housed, but never quite exercised to the extent that Pettigrew had.

Regulus had once caught the boy, a seventh year at the time, taunting a second year Slytherin. Regulus had sent the boy packing, escorting the younger girl back to the dorms after making sure she was okay. He really didn't like bullies, it reminded him too much of how his mother had always dealt with Sirius, reminded him of Sirius and Kreacher's relationship. A little too close to the bone for comfort really.

No, Pettigrew would be the last one of the Marauder's he'd want as a father. Thankfully, he was also the least likely.

The first real possibility was Remus Lupin. The quiet one of the Marauders, and some would argue, the brains. He wasn't, not really. They were a collective group, a collective brain. But it was Lupin that was most likely to think of the small things, that which is brother and Potter would dismiss as unimportant when it was what really pulled the plan together. Lupin was the one that paid attention to the small things.

Out of all the Marauders, there was no doubt that he was the softest personality, the calmest. Perhaps the most approachable as a result, even if he did appear to be constantly tired. Lupin wasn't a bad person, perhaps the one that Regulus would find most agreeable out of that entire group had he not been personally attached to Sirius.

He was also a werewolf.

That thought alone stopped Regulus from really chasing after the idea that Lupin was his new father.

Oh sure, some girls may be able to see past that fact and accept Lupin for what he was, but not without a good few years of solid relationship status.

Which left only one option.

James Potter.

He was Potter's child. Regulus was unsure how he should feel about that.

James Potter had, for the first six years of his time in Hogwarts, been a menace beyond comparison. By Regulus' sixth year -thus, Potter's seventh- though, he'd calmed down. He was a talented wizard, that was for sure. If Regulus remembered correctly, Potter had faced down Voldemort before, twice by the count of his death. Each time it'd only been a few spells flung between the two of them before Dumbledore rushed in, but it was enough to earn Regulus' respect.

Anyone who could stand up to a monster that had split his soul was okay in Regulus book.

But then again, Potter had been the one to change Sirius. He didn't begrudge Sirius his friends, he just didn't like the fact his older brother had seemingly replaced him as soon as he got to Hogwarts, that he'd chosen Potter over his own flesh and blood. It was a wound that still hadn't closed, that still bled sluggishly even now.

Regardless, the identity of his father was something Regulus was certain of. Which brought him to his second point.

The second point being his mother. There was no choice here really.

It'd been legendary, Potter's chase of Evans. The redhead mudblood that'd been as talented, if not more so, than any other student in her year. Perhaps even out of her year. Regulus liked to think they'd been on the same level, he'd just made sure not to play his own talents up as much. But then again, Evans would have a few years on him now, what with him being dead and then reborn.

Grimacing at the thought, Regulus could have screamed when the infant body sensed his discomfort and responded by bursting into tears.

Instantly Sirius panicked, crying out for 'Lily'. How Regulus hadn't noticed who his mother was sooner, he wasn't sure.

What he was sure of was that he was done getting breast fed now that he was aware. Evans may have been his mother now -and wasn't that a disgusting thought? He'd known of this girl, seen her as a twelve year old child- but that didn't mean he would keep on going as he had.

So when the red-head came in, rushing to feed him, Regulus kicked up the biggest fuss yet. He refused, squirming away and ignoring the innate drive that told him to just latch on and suckle. He would have formula milk damn it. He would not suckle from a mudblood, not now that he knew what his mother was.

Dear Merlin, he was a half blood.

Grimacing, Regulus accepted the teat of the bottle that Evans had spent the past ten minutes preparing, suckling away and desperately trying to listen in on the conversation that was going on above him. But his body was growing tired, his eyelids dragging down in a steady movement that he was helpless to stop. It wasn't long after his revelation that Regulus Black ended up falling asleep in his infant body.

 

 

 

Harry James Potter. Harry. His name was now Harry.

 

Scowling, Regulus rolled over onto his stomach, sprawled on the living room rug as he was.

Christmas had come and passed, and now he was into his sixth month. The past three had been spent on recon as his infant body grew and adjusted to his surroundings. He'd gotten a glimpse in the mirror not too long ago, and well, things could have been worse.

His hair was raven black, the messy riot of the Potter style, but his facial features called out to the Black heritage that came from Potter's mother. The eyes were the only thing he'd gotten from his mudblood mother, and that was, that was acceptable. They were Evans best feature after all, unusual even in the magical world. Not the grey eyes of the Black family he was used to seeing stare back at him, but perhaps these were better. More distinguished, memorable. Which was good and bad, had its ups and downs.

"How's my little man?" Looking up at Potter, Regulus pursed his lips, blowing a bubble of spit at the man in lieu of actually words. His vocal cords, his motor functions, weren't yet refined enough for speech, but from the tone of his babbles, he was getting there. Slowly but surely.

Potter had been an arrogant brat in Hogwarts, but as a father, as a family man, he certainly tried. Regulus couldn't remember Orion being like this, so open with his love. Potter adored his son, so much so it almost left Regulus feeling guilty to be here instead of the newborn that Potter should have gotten. Almost.

"He's fine James, honestly."

The voice of Evans cut through his thoughts and Regulus turned around to look at the woman. She was sat, hunched over her research notes, something she'd only started doing sine he'd entered his sixth month.

"I'm off to work my beautiful Lily-flower. Prongslet will protect you will I am gone."

After the most sickeningly sentimental kissing Regulus had ever been forced to watch, James Potter disappeared into the fireplace, leaving Regulus alone with Evans. He hated being stuck in this body, and while he was slowly getting control over it, there were times like right now, when he felt like he was getting nowhere at all.

"Harry sweetie, want to come and see what Mommy's working on?" Well, it was certainly something.

If there was one thing the mudblood had over Potter, it was that she was a thinker, instead of a fighter. Regulus could empathise with that. He liked the dance of battle. But he liked to think too. Evans and Potter were two sides of the same coin, Regulus himself was both. Perhaps it wasn't so strange he'd ended up their child out of every other possibility.

Two dainty hands coiled around his rib cage, lifting Regulus up until he came to rest in Evans' lap, fingers running through his baby fine head of hair. He forced himself not to squirm at the contact as he had been doing for the past few weeks, ever since his epiphany really.

He was still unsure of how he'd come to be in this situation. Was every person reborn after their death? Surely not, because otherwise there'd be all kinds of writing, all kinds of journals and books and tomes on the subject. Or maybe it did happen, and he was just the single one to be reborn with the memories of his past life.

Why, why was it him of all people that'd been put in this position? He wasn't anything special, he wasn't touched by an god or deity, he hadn't been a nice person in his previous life. He'd just lived, lived as best as he could, to his own morals, to his own code. True both of those had been influenced by others, on how he'd grown up, who he'd interacted with.

But he'd fixed himself up in the end, recognised the evil that was Voldemort. He'd struck his blow, and he'd died content.

So why was he here?

"You see this rune Harry?"

Against his will, Regulus was drawn from his thoughts, following the shallow curves of Evans' arm to see what she was pointing at. It took a second for his underdeveloped eyes to truly focus on what he was seeing, and when he did, his mind stuttered to a halt.

Those, those were blood runes.

Surely not? He couldn’t be looking at what he was looking at, could he?

Twisting his neck back -which was finally, finally able to support his head- Regulus stared up at Evans. Paying particular attention to her face. Even though she was still addressing him, her eyes were focused on the page, scanning the words and runes.

And there was a light of understanding in her face. She knew what she was reading, she knew exactly what this runes were for.

All of his expectations had been blown apart.

As a fresh graduate from Hogwarts, Regulus had been wary of blood runes. They were exceptionally powerful, but they require sacrifice. Even the weakest of them called for a blood sacrifice, varying from a prick of the finger to a slash of the wrist. That alone had seen the Ministry banning the runes, sealing all the books and tomes that they could get their hands on. Of course, in the Black library the knowledge of them lived on, ready to be studied by any member of the Black family willing to try.

So how the hell had Evans gotten her filthy hands on such a thing? The Potters were a light family, they wouldn't have access to something like this, would they? It'd be hypocritical otherwise.

Blood runes were only one step before the darkest of the dark arts. And that was only because blood runes could be used for things other than pain. Still, the fact it cross over with so many dark rituals was enough for the Light of the wizarding world to denounced them completely. He'd always meant to study blood runes, they'd intrigued him, but he'd never gotten around to it.

And now his whole perception of Evans had taken a tumble down a large hill, leaving him with all his previous thoughts in a tangled heap.

Evans had stopped talking now, not that Regulus had been paying any attention. Instead, she was flicking through the thick tome, so the reborn soul took the opportunity to inspect the copious amounts of notes now that he knew just what the mudblood was studying.

Green eyes dancing over the page, Regulus took in all the information he could, feeling his breath catch in his throat as he began to understand just what Evans was up to.

She was putting together a protection ritual. Or rather, building on one she'd already created. There was notes on a blood protection ritual, a weak one that was just on the outskirts of the dark arts, but already knee deep in blood runes. The amount of blood would require the palm to be slashed, for the life liquid to be willingly donated to power the runes.

Subtly, Regulus let his eyes drift over to Evans' left palm, but found it unmarked.

It only took him a second to remember that she was left handed.

With as much childish fascination as he could muster, he caught hold of Evans right hand where it'd been stroking his hair, pulling it down to look at the appendage. He traced his fingertips across the pads of hers, well aware that at such a young age he shouldn't notice the whopping big scar that was etched from her pointer finger down to the fleshy curve of her palm just above her wrist. At least, not right away.

Dragging his fingers across the soft skin, Regulus couldn’t help but stare at the scar.

Evans was a Light witch, he'd been sure of that before. Maybe she wasn't though. Certainly she wasn't Dark, but Grey?[ Apparently so. Performing blood rituals…

Blood rituals to give him protection? He was floored.

No matter how Dark the Black family was, never had he heard of a parent performing even a small blood protection ritual. The Dark families were of the opinion that children should be able to defend themselves. The thought that this mudblood, sat with him curled in her lap, was looking up more and more blood protection to tuck around him as a protective shield sent a fire into Regulus' midsection.

No, he didn't just suddenly decided the Light had been right all along, he didn't change the ideals that he'd been raised on. But his respect for Evans… Now that did change.

Before he'd just thought of her as an academic, that was the only thing he'd respected.

Now though, watching her dive deeper and deeper into Blood Runes and Dark Rituals that'd get her locked up if the Ministry had any say, his respect for her soared. She'd abandoned her morals to keep her offspring safe, she had put her offspring before anything else. He had no respect for the mudbloods still, but Evans..

This was the day when she rose from a mudblood in his eyes and entered a class of her own. He knew purebloods that was flinch at what she was reading. Evans was a good witch, he'd give her that, for now.

It would seem he'd lucked out with one parent at least.

 

 

Bath time was perhaps the worst thing of this new life.

It wasn't that Regulus didn't like being clean, he found being clean enjoyable. And he could stomach getting bathed by his new parents, he could ignore the humiliation of not having complete control over his body and allowing them to aid him.

What he couldn’t ignore was the feel of the water inclosing around his body, how the gentle hold of his parent's limbs would change into the iron grip of the inferi. He couldn't stand the way his lungs started to close without any conscious thought of his own, how water would appear in his throat and he'd start screaming and coughing and panicking, even though his airways were clear.

He had panicked Evans the first time it'd happened. Sure, she'd no doubt heard some babies didn't like water, but Regulus couldn’t stand it.

He broke into such hysterics that these new parents had been forced to call a healer, so worried they'd been because he just wouldn’t calm down. Even when he was out of the bath, dry and laid neatly within his coat with the healer stood over him, Regulus hadn't been able to calm himself down.

'Almost like a panic attack' the healer had said. Evans had been kind enough to repeat it later on for him. Well not for him, actually she was informing Sirius of what had gone on, why his godson still had a wild look in his eyes.

Regulus was still trying to calm his mind, which was spinning with flashbacks of the cave. Of half decomposed fingers clamping down around his wrists, of bones curling around his waist and dragging him downwards. Of Kreacher's wide, terrified eyes as he disappeared beneath the murky surface.

"Hey little buddy."

Two hands -soft hands, warm hands- wrapped around his waist, heaving him upwards until Regulus was looking into warm grey eyes.

Sirius smiled back at him, laying his tiny body against his chest, until Regulus came to rest in the crook of the elder's neck. The warm, comforting scent of a familiar person had his heart slowing, and finally, finally, he was relaxed again.

"Heard you don't like baths, huh?" Sirius mused, walking down the stairs from his nursery.

Potter and Evans called out a goodbye, evidentially going out somewhere -probably to help out Dumbledore with whatever the old goat was planning now- and thus leaving him alone with Sirius babysitting. He wasn't too sure how he felt about this. Part of him said that Sirius wasn't responsible enough to look after a child as small as he was, but another part, hidden deeper in his psyche, the kind he didn't like to admit was there, called out with joy at the idea of getting to spend some quality time with his older brother once again.

"Don't tell your mom, but I don't like baths either." Sirius winked at him and Regulus couldn't help but smile. The idiot. Did he really think a six month old baby could understand what he was saying? Oh, sure Regulus could understand, but Sirius didn't know it was Regulus behind this baby mask. Sirius would never know if Regulus got his way.

No doubt his older brother would hate him instantly, for stealing Potter's true son from him. Those grey eyes would probably end up burning with hate, there certainly wouldn't be any love left for him. So  Regulus would hold his tongue, keep his silence on the matter.

Sirius placed him gently on the thick material rug that was stretched out across the floor before the fire, a plastic bowl almost as deep as Regulus' tiny arm set out before him. Curious, the former Black forced his tiny body upwards into a sitting position, peeking over the rim of the plastic. And then he froze slightly.

Water.

It wasn't the murky depths of the cave, he could see the bottom, there was no abyss in which the inferi could be lurking. But still, there was enough water for him to put his whole arm into, and he really, really didn't like that. It was too much, it made him uncomfortable. He was a grown wizard though, water shouldn't scare him. It couldn't really hurt him, not physically.

It could still drag him back into the deep recesses of his memory, could still tease out the memories of being pulling beneath the surface against his will.

"See Harry?" Sirius had put his own hand in the bowl now, waving it back and forth and sending ripples of water lapping against the edge of its container. "It's just water. It can't hurt you."

Oh, Sirius was so very, very wrong. He was trying though. He was trying to help get rid of his supposedly irrational fear of water, trying to be a good godfather. Regulus would never see him as a godfather though, Sirius would always, always be his older brother. That's all there was to it, and he had no intention of changing it. Sirius was trying, reaching out to him, so Regulus would respond in kind.

Shuffling forwards on his rear, underdeveloped legs and arms working full time to pull him closer to the bowl, Regulus placed both his arms over the side, staring into the water's surface. Sirius had since removed his hands, watching him intently. Bright green eyes glanced back up at him from the water's surface, staring intently, with a sharpness that didn't belong in the face of a baby. The small amount of baby fine hair on his head was already sticking up in various directions and the former Black swore to grow it out until the weight would drag it down into something more manageable. He would not put up with Potter hair unless there was no other option. He'd invent a spell to control it if he needed to.

"You kinda remind me of Regulus, you know?"

Regulus froze from where he'd been about to dip a finger into the liquid, not daring to breath.

"He was as quiet as you were. Didn't speak much. You don't scream at all, at least, not that I've heard. Even Lily says you only did that when you were born, and when she tried bathing you."

He had to take his mind off of this, he had to pretend that Sirius' words meant nothing to him. But since when had Sirius needed to talk about him? He'd have figured the older Black would have gotten over his death by now, a year at the very least had to have passed since then, maybe two.

That was enough time for grief, right? He wouldn't know, never having gone through the process himself. But maybe it wasn't for Sirius. He had been the more emotional of the two of them, the one that was open and wore his heart on his sleeve. He was only cold to his enemies, to the people he disliked.

"He was a stupid kid, got sucked in with the wrong crowd, got in over his head-" Sirius cut off, something that sounded suspiciously like a sniffle reaching Regulus' ears and he just couldn't not look.

Turning around, the young wizard blinked, looking over at the Black that was currently leaning back against the leg of the sofa. Head half hidden in his forearm, Regulus was actually stunned to see genuine tears leaking out the corner of Sirius' eyes.

Sirius… Sirius wasn't over his death. Sirius actually cared enough shed tears for him.

Regulus wasn't even sure if his own parents had cried when they got news of his death; here was Sirius, who he'd not spoken to since the older male had left Hogwarts, crying for him. Crying for his death, for all the things that'd been left unsaid between them.

"He tried to back out, and he got killed for it. Tch," Sirius ran his fingers across his cheeks, breaking the stream of tears for a moment before they continued to well free from his eyes. "He was an idiot. He shouldn't have gotten in with them. I told him it was wrong, that they were wackos…" Sirius trailed off, a sob tore free from within his chest and Regulus had to suck his lips in between his gums to stop himself from doing something, anything.

He had never wished to be back in his old body more than he had right in that moment. To tell Sirius he hadn't died for nothing, that in the end, he'd died helping his older brother in the only way he knew how, from the shadows. That he'd struck a great blow against Voldemort and to stop thinking that he was taken down so easily by the Death Eaters.

That he'd not gone down like the coward that Sirius had always believe him to be.

He wanted Sirius to know more than anything, to hear his brother speak of him in pride.

But he couldn't risk Voldemort finding out, Voldemort who'd be so enraged he'd hunt down every last person with even a drop of Black blood and destroy them all.

Sometimes, there had to be a faceless hero, one who would take no credit for his actions, who would never be thought well of. That was the cards he'd been dealt, that was the hand Regulus had been forced to play by. He'd accept that.

But that didn't mean Sirius had to sit here crying in front of him. Even though the younger Black's death had clearly been weighing heavily on his mind, Sirius shouldn't be sad. He was alive, he could still keep fighting. Regulus wanted his older brother to enjoy a freedom he himself had died for.

. His magic, still at the same level it'd been when he was an adult yet as untrained as he'd have expected of this infant shell he inhabited, surged.

The golden cushion on the sofa shivered under his will, and then it twisted, the tassels on the edging moving until a miniature lion was shaking out it's mane, a low growl echoing through its jaws.

Regulus stared. He'd heard of different types of accidental magic; children summoning items, vanishing things they didn't like, shrinking clothes that were an eyesore. The odd child might even manage apperation under the right circumstances.

But something as complex as transfigurations? Something like what he was looking at right now? No chance.

This wasn't right, this kind of power wasn't meant to be housed inside of a child's body, this was the uncontrolled power of an adult wizard, one that just responded to his whims, to his base desires. He wanted to cheer Sirius up, his mind associated Gryffindor with what made Sirius happy, and so they now had a little Gryffindor mascot in their midst.

For a moment, both himself and Sirius just sat there, staring at the tiny lion that was now stretching casually across the seat of the sofa, tail flickering back and forth with a casual grace that did not belong to accident magic.

"Harry? Harry, was that you?"

For a moment, he forgot that he was suppose to be playing the ignorant baby and found himself nodding. The second that Regulus realized what he was doing though, he instantly twisted the motion so it seemed like he was instead following the path of the lion's tail, all the while able to feel the palatial awe that was emitting from Sirius.

"Dear Merlin, they're gonna have kittens when I tell 'em they missed your first accidental," Sirius grumbled, reaching out to tickle the lion beneath the chin.

Scooting closer himself, Regulus reached out with one arm, dragging it down the lion's back with more pressure than he'd have liked to use, but then again, he was an infant with little to no control over his extremities.

"You're gonna be a Gryff for sure," Sirius mused with a grin, lighting his face up so much Regulus could almost ignore the shining tear tracks, the remnants of his thoughts on his younger brother's 'anticlimactic' death. Almost.

 

Sirius was not aware of how advanced a piece of magic Regulus had cast. Potter and Evans, as it turned out, were.

He really shouldn't have been surprised that they went straight to their problem solver when they came home to find a miniature lion trotting after the two males. A miniature lion that had yet to die off, to revert back.

Regulus could feel the tax on his magical core that was keeping the little pillow lion alive, but he wanted it to stick around as long as it could. Mainly out of academic interest.

Potter on the other hand, just wanted to keep the lion around to prove how amazing his firstborn was. The man was full of bursting pride when it came to Regulus, had bragged about the little creation to the rest of the Marauders.

Evans however, was rightly worried.

Still though, the appearance of Albus Dumbledore during his seventh month of his  new life was enough for Regulus to drop the comfortably cool teething ring he'd been indulging on.

When it came to Albus Dumbledore, Regulus found his feelings a fell in a confusing mixture. Part of him respected the man, the only one would could duel against Voldemort with no one to back him up, the only one who could duel Voldemort to a standstill. He respected the man's power, the fact he'd managed to acquire so much knowledge on magic during his life time.

Another part of Regulus burned though. The man had never really given the Slytherins a chance. It wasn't a conscious decision, but when the school thought of Voldemort, they instantly looked to Slytherin, suspicion in their eyes. Regulus knew for a fact there were a good handful of Ravenclaws and even several Puffs in Voldemort's ranks, but because they were the house of the snake, they were all guilty by association. Dumbledore didn't adopt this ideal, but he never stopped it either. He allowed the school to keep thinking a quarter of their numbers were destined for nothing but evil, and it got to the point that the vast majority of Slytherins accepted that was their lot in their life.

They were Slytherin, so they fought for the Dark Lord. It was as simple as that.

So yes, Regulus wasn't sure how he felt about Albus Dumbledore, the only thing he could really settle on was that he was wary of the man. Guarded.

He did not need Dumbledore figuring out that he was a reborn soul.

Clamping down on the Occlumency shields he'd built up a lifetime ago, Regulus whimpered for the teething ring to be returned to him. Teething hurt, he was allowed to demand the cold plastic, especially since Evans had covered it in a numbing gel. It was wonderful; he'd abandoned all his dignity for that thing.

The red-head bent down, given the ring a quick clean before handing it back over to him, and Regulus was quick to jam it back into his mouth, rubbing his aching gums against the chilled soother.

Dispassionately, he watched from his highchair as Dumbledore ummed and ahhed over his little creation, watched the little lion flicker its tail back and forth. Eyeless face never leaving the intruder upon its territory.

Finally, it seemed the aged headmaster made up his mind, because he gave a casual flick of his wand, the lion dissolving back into the cushion it'd been birthed from, much to Regulus disappointment.

"I think Lily, it's time we spoke of the prophecy." Prophecy?

Regulus watched as Lily nodded, silently setting up a privacy bubble and Regulus spluttered angrily around the teething ring.

What prophecy was he speaking of? The way it'd been brought up, it was almost like it was about him. Did it speak of him being a reborn soul? No, that couldn’t be it. Surely if it did neither Potter or Evans would have treated him like an infant in that were the case. It wasn't about him being reborn with his memories intact, so what could it be about?

It had to be important for Dumbledore to bring it up, and Regulus wrecked his brains in an attempt to bring up any knowledge he had on the subject. But Divination was a woolly subject, there was a reason he'd not chosen it as one of his electives. Now he wished he'd done even a little of his own research.

He had been, and still was, a firm believer in that one chose their own destiny. He'd been the one to chose to die for a cause, to die against Voldemort. To know that it'd been his path all along, it made him feel as if his sacrifice had been cheapened. As if he'd had no choice and that his development as a person meant nothing in the face of such a scripted fate.

But still, a prophecy? Those were the things of legends, of all the old tales that his parents had never bothered to tell him about. Instead, he and Sirius had taken it in turns reading them to one another. Stumbling over the unfamiliar long words, dreaming up the characters and how events would have happened had they been there at the time.

Enacting the great Battle for the Nile, the creation of Hogwarts, the meeting of three brothers and Death. They had only been about four or five, something around that age.

But those were happier times for Regulus, times that had long since faded with disuse. He couldn't remember laughing so freely with Sirius after that. He could barely remember the panicked rush that came from having to hide and/or replace all the props they'd used upon hearing their parents had returned. They always managed it, but there'd been a few close shaves, a few incidents that would have spelt trouble had Kreacher not taken pity on them and hidden the evidence they'd failed to take care of.

Back before animosity between the lot of them had started, back before tempers had roared higher and exploded like the volcanoes of the tropical climates.

It made Regulus' heart ache, knowing that would never happen again.

 

On his first birthday in this body, Regulus was given a toy broomstick.

Since the lion incident, Evans had put her foot down and disappeared for the day, leaving Regulus in the care of all four Marauders.

When she returned, a proud looking, golden furred cat held in her grip, Regulus had since been forced to sit through Sirius drawing eyebrows onto his small face with ink dipped fingers. Big, thick, angry eyebrows. With magic resistant ink.

Evans hadn't been able to get them off for days, considering he still refused the bath. He'd been holding a grudge since though, refusing to speak even though he could now. Not that they knew it. Nor would they, until they had returned to being in his good books. Because Sirius had drawn fat eyebrows on his skin, Potter had let him, and Evans had left him alone with them, knowing such a thing would probably happen.

However, all was forgiven when Sirius presented him with his first birthday present. A toy broomstick.

To fly again, even though it was only two feet off the ground, it was exhilarating. There were all kinds of safety charms on the wood, limiters and cushioners to make sure he wouldn’t fall off, wouldn’t go too fast. But it was an honest to god broom.

At this point, after a year of being practically immobile, only four months of crawling and two of walking, this was everything.

Potter was cheering from the sidelines, loudly proclaiming he'd gotten his talent for flying from him. Regulus dearly wished he'd be able to tell the man that no, he'd gotten it from six years of flying of the Slytherin Quidditch team. He doubted the man would like that though.

He stopped just before Sirius, who snatched him up and grinned wildly at him.

"Enjoy that Prongslet?"

At first, he'd not understood that nickname, not until he'd witnessed Potter turning into a stag and prancing about the back garden, watched his brother transform into a dog and chase after him. He was going to learn that this lifetime, he would.

"'Ank you Siri!"

Slapping the stunned older man around the face, Regulus basked in the glory of having spoken this body's first words, before Potters depressed wail broke through the silence.

"Why does he get Harry's first word?! He's my kid! Mine!"

Sirius got his first words because Sirius had gotten him his first broom. Regulus had never been so thankful for a present, to be able to move again at a decent speed!

But speaking of kids, where were they? He'd not pictured Potter and Evans to keep a child secluded for its early years. He was expecting them to invite other parents of children in a similar age range to him for a small birthday party. But that hadn't happened.

There was no other child in sight, he'd not met anyone his own age. Why?

Come to think of it, he'd never actually left the house before. Sure, he'd spent some time in the garden during this summer, but never once had he been beyond the property line. Were parents not suppose to encourage social interaction with peers? He was sure even Walburga and Orion had seen to it that both he and Sirius would have met others by now. Something wasn't right here, and a sinking part of him recalled Dumbledore's prophecy.

He needed answer, and soon.

 

 

It was the thirty first of October when it all came together, every issue that'd slowly been orbiting around in his brain came crashing inwards before exploded outwards, reflected on the reality he was now living in.

It'd started out as a nice, normal night, not unlike any other. Godric's Hallow, the location of his new home, Regulus had found out, was a magical and muggle neighbourhood. The muggle children were running about outside, all dressed up in a variety of costumes for All Hallows Eve.

But they never approached their door, and Evans and Potter seemed to think that it was only natural. Wards. It had to be a ward, though what kind, Regulus wasn't too sure. He'd not heard of any that could have both muggle and magicals alike passing over a home as if it weren't there at all.

Neither Evans or Potter had spoken of the wards. Or the Prophecy. Hell, he'd only heard a few minutes of talk on the Order of the Phoenix. No, his new parents seemed determined to keep him out of earshot when it came to anything important at all.

It frustrated him. Pushing away the warmth that came over the idea that these parents were going out of their way to protect him, Regulus inhaled deeply, trying to focus his mind. It didn't matter how good a pair of parents Evans and Potter were, he wasn't a usual baby. He'd already proven that to them with how quickly he was picking up speech.

More than once he'd caught Evans looking at him funny. No doubt noting the gleam of intelligence in his eyes, the way he was able to assess a situation before adjusting his behaviour accordingly. He'd heard her whisper to Lupin that perhaps her little boy was a genius. Lupin had frowned, but he'd began watching, began noticing, too. 

Nevertheless, Evans had never shown him anything other than maternal love, always hugging and kissing him, even though Regulus never once reached out for such comfort. Not consciously at least.

Maybe a small part of him was starved of parental love, Orion and Walburga had never been as free as Evans and Potter were.

Even now, sat beside Evans and listening to her read a book, she would reach over and carcass his cheeks, press her lips against his skull, inhale pleasing scent that was the smell of a clean infant. He had to admit, he did smell good when he was clean. There was just something warm and comforting about the smell this body gave out. Perhaps children had evolved that way, so that everyone else would want to protect them Regulus wasn't sure, he wasn't going to worry too much over it either.

All that mattered was that Evans -and by extension, Potter- wasn't a huge freak for wanting to smell him all the time. When Potter had brought it up, Evans had insisted it was a thing that all new mothers did, had insisted that she could remember her own mother doing the same thing. Potter had quickly learnt not to argue with her over that topic. It just wasn't worth the effort.

"Well Harry? Can you tell me what that is?" Evans pointed to the picture of the lion in the book, and Regulus had to clamp down on his self control in order to not roll his eyes at such a simple question.

"A wion." He still hadn't been able to rid himself of the lisp that came with being a toddler. Thankfully, neither Evans or Potter had a lisp, so he damn well hoped he'd be growing out of it, that it wouldn't be an underlying genetic trait.

"Alright, educational time over!"

Regulus was snatched up before he got a chance to say anything either way, nestled against Potter's hip at the man grinned down at him. The square glasses had slipped down his nose slightly, resting just past the bridge.

Grimacing, Regulus pushed them back up as gently as he could. He really, really hoped he wouldn't end up with glasses. If he did, then he'd have to get them fixed on one of the smaller branches off of Diagon Alley. He was going to be a Seeker again in this life, that much he was sure of.

And glasses? Yeah, that wasn't going to happen. Plus, Evans' green eyes were his new body's best feature, he wasn't going to be hiding them, not when he could do something about it.

"You okay there Harry?" Looking down at him with warm hazel eyes, Potter grinned wildly when Regulus went on to nod in response.

"Ha, that's my Prongslet." Holding him at arm's length, Potter spun him around, making the most ridiculous sounds as he did so. Still, it was the closest he'd get to flying for real again, the toy broomstick didn't even go this fast. The childish body betrayed him, happy laughter bubbling up from out of his throat.

And that's when it died.

Potter stopped so suddenly Regulus' head snapped to a side, crying out in surprise. His eyes darted up to look at Potter, and noted the raw fear on the man's face. He was staring frozen at something outside the window, but Regulus didn't get a chance to take a look himself, as he was quickly thrust into Evans' arms none too gently.

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!" What was happening?

Regulus stared over Evans' shoulder as she raced from the room, watching Potter dive into the hallway, rolling as he went. His goal was quite obviously his wand, which had been lying discarded by his shoes in the entrance way.

Evans only just managed to get up the stairs when there was a deafening bang, the door exploding inwards. And then he heard it. A high pitched, cackling laughter that still haunted his dreams.

Voldemort was here.

How? Regulus had ordered Kreacher to destroy the locket, to get rid of it by any means necessary. There had been no loophole in the instruction, and even if there had been, Kreacher would have carried it out anyway. Kreacher would have carried out his beloved master's last request.

Still, he hadn't left any reason why Kreacher couldn't do it, every last step, every last move he'd made that day had been one calculated act of rebellion against Voldemort. There had been no room for mistakes. Surely Kreacher had found a way to destroy the locket?

Someone must have hit Voldemort with some form of deadly spell since then, it'd been over a year now, at the very least.

He had to have died. He'd been so sure that Voldemort was gone now with his act, so sure that he'd be able to live this life in relative freedom, that Potter and Evans and Sirius would have a peaceful life.

But Voldemort still lived. Unless-

Regulus' brain crashed to a stop.

Surely not. Surely the monster hadn't made more than one Horcrux? Surely not even he would tear his soul apart more than once?!

Gritting his teeth, Regulus clenched his eyes shut as a flash of green lit up the hallway, a green so familiar it brought bile to the back of his throat.

Potter was dead. The man had never been his favourite person in the world, he'd tolerated him throughout Hogwarts. But this past year or so with the man, it hadn't been bad. It'd been pleasant. James Potter had cared, had loved both his wife and his infant son. He'd shown more love than Regulus had ever seen from a parent before, more love than Regulus had certainly expected.

He'd been brave too, throwing himself in front of Voldemort in order to give Evans enough time to flee with him. James Potter…

He and Regulus were never friends, the man would certainly never just what he child was like. But Regulus now knew who James Potter was. And Regulus would always respect the man for the choices he'd made now. He'd never forget what he'd just seen.

Potter hadn't even hesitated.

 

 

Evans burst into the nursery, swiftly, if somewhat roughly, placing him in his cot.

Then, she pricked her finger with a needle she'd produced from her pocket. The droplet of crimson blood fell from the appendage, landing on the floor with a shallow splash.

And for a second, hundreds of runes, on each and ever surface of the nursery lit up like a beacon as the stairs creaked. Regulus stared, eyes wide. When had Evans had the time to draw all of these up? He'd never noticed, not even a single one of them before. They were everywhere. He couldn’t even begin to start understanding what kind of ritual Evans had schemed up, didn't even know where the start here.

"Harry, remember, Mommy loves you. Daddy loves you." He didn't like this. Those sounded like last words.

Evans had already tried to apperate out, wandless as she was. But there were wards up preventing such a thing. That much he was sure of.

"Mom," Regulus tried, forcing his chubby legs to uncurl beneath him, clutching at the cribs bars and pulling himself up into a standing position. He didn't get much further than that thought, because the door Evan's had rapidly barricaded with a chest of draws was blown inwards, shattering across the floor.

He watched Evans scream, curling in on herself, but she still proud before his crib, shielding his body from view with her own. Regulus whimpered in the back of his throat, alarm and panic rising in his core.

This was going to destroy Sirius. All three Potters dead in one night. It would be as if Voldemort killed Sirius as well.

"Step aside."

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead-"

Regulus stared. Evans was stood before Voldemort, but unlike every Pureblood he'd seen, she was pleading with the man. Not for her own life, but for that of her son's.

Lord Voldemort was just as demonic as when Regulus had last seen him. Blood red eyes stared at Evans, skin near perfect white.

"This is my last warning-"

Why was he giving a warning? Evans was a mudblood, Voldemort's own code said he shouldn’t even bother speaking to her, never mind getting her to step aside. What was going on? What had changed for Voldemort to give Evans a chance to step aside? What could have possibly happened for Voldemort to offer Evans this?

"Not Harry! Please ... have mercy ... Not Harry! Please- I'll do anything."

"Very well then. Avada Kedavra."

Green light flashed again, Evans' scream bouncing back and forth, from every corner of the room and filling Regulus' head until it was still there, even after the light had left her eyes and the noise died in her throat.

The body of Lily Evans was on the floor now, dead. That was it, both of his new parents dead before his eyes.

Something that sounded suspiciously like a sob broke free from Regulus' lips as he stared down at the woman who'd been given a chance to walk away but had continued to shield him with her body. Had refused to step aside, to go on and live her life without her child.

Regulus could count on one hand the amount of people he felt had the capacity to do what Lily Evans had just done. Throwing her life away like that was so outside of the Slytherin code of conduct that it made him cringe.

It didn't explain away the warm, fuzzy feelings that erupted inside of his stomach at the thought of parents that would throw their life away for his.

He had to be in a state of shock, that was the only reason he could think of when it came to why his magic didn't jump to defend him. His emotions weren't on the violent end of the scale, he wasn't scared enough to really drum up any magic, and the rage of watching Evans die, of knowing Potter had died too, just wasn't coming, held back behind the shock he just couldn't get over.

Voldemort was staring down at him now, a sneer on his face, lips curled in distaste. He didn't say anything, instead levelling the bone white wand at Regulus' forehead. Maybe in his next life, he'd make it past two years old, instead of dying at a year and a bit.

Why was Voldemort so determined to kill him though? Had he found out Regulus had been reborn? Had he realized what Regulus had done? How had he tracked him down? It was entirely possible that the wizard had found the little note he'd left behind, a taunt really.

But to track him to this new body? Had the Dark Mark gone deeper than he'd previously theorized? Was it connected to his soul, instead of just a small anchor on his body?

Grimacing, Regulus continued to stare defiantly at Voldemort, lips pursed and hands clenching around the wooden bars. He would not bow, not to this creature. He'd drown once already, face death down knowing what was coming for him. He was Regulus Black, but he was also the son of Lily Evans, a mudblood and perhaps the bravest witch Regulus had ever known. He'd never given the woman enough credit, but if he were reborn again, he'd make sure the tale of Lily Evans' sacrifice for her son got out.

He owed her that much.

A glowing green wand tip.

"Avada Kedavra."

Pain.

 

 

 

His vision was blurry, his head was hurting. There was something in his head.

What was that?

What was in his head?

Was that Severus Snape?

What was he doing here?

This was the Potter house, Snape and Potter hated each other. How did he know Snape was here?

Was he a ghost? A year old ghost, chained to the site of his untimely death?

Time seemed to blur together, he was sure that he saw Sirius at some point, and then he felt large hands, far too large hands, closing around his ribs and picking him up.

 For a second he expected to see Potter, then when his head cleared, he hoped for Sirius.

But it was neither, he couldn't see anything past the bushy beards. His head hurt, it felt like it was splitting in two.

 

 

And so, Regulus Black slept, unaware that he was even still alive, nevertheless now known as the Boy-Who-Lived. 

 


	3. Succession

_1. A number of people or things of a similar kind following one after the other_   
_2\. (ecology) The gradual and orderly process of change in an ecosystem brought about by the progressive replacement of one community by another until a stable climax is established_   
_3\. The action of following in order_   
_4\. The right or sequence of inheriting a position, title, etc._

_._

The Dursley family unit consisted of three components that came together to confirm everything Regulus had ever been taught about muggles.

Not that he paid much attention to them for the first week or so, deep in shock as he was. It took him a day to even accept the fact he was alive.

Because he distinctively remembered being hit with the Avada Kedavra curse. The killing curse. Which had hit him square in the forehead, he could still feel the sting even now. Only once had he dared to touch the site of impact, wincing from the fresh scar that rested atop his brow.

Even now, five years on from that night, he had never poked at the wound again, which looked as fresh as the day it was inflicted upon him. Sowilo. The rune for wholeness and success, carved into his skin.

He remembered blood runes all over the nursery, remembered Lily Evans activating them with a prick of her finger. It took him a few weeks to realize that Lily Evans had been the reason he survived the killing curse.

Never before had Regulus held so much respect for someone than in the moment he figured out just what Lily Evans had done. She had created a ritual that, with her willing sacrifice, had provided enough protection for him to survive a killing curse. He might never like mudbloods if they all turned out to be useless, but if he found even one that was like Lily Evans -doubtful, so very doubtful- then he would admit he was wrong.

He burned to look over those blood runes, to study each tier and see how they interacted with one another. He wanted to understand everything that Evans had done, how she'd managed to achieve what others had thought impossible. Sure, it'd come about as a result of her death, her willing sacrifice, but she had managed to counter the killing curse. Wizarding for hundreds of years had been attempting to do the same and yielded no results at all. Evans had been in her early twenties, with just over a decade in the magical world and she'd managed it.

Regardless, his sudden hero worship of Lily Evans had little to do with the Dursley family and their awful behaviour, though evoking her name certainly cause more than a few reactions.

 

 

 

Being Lily Evans' sister, Petunia Dursley née Evans was his closest living relative. Not that one would be able to tell if the two were stood side by side. Where Lily was beautiful, Petunia was plain. Where Lily had vibrant red hair, Petunia had dull blonde. Where Lily had brilliant green eyes, Petunia had dishwater blue. Where Lily had been kind, Petunia was cruel. At the very least, that's how she was to Regulus.

He'd awoken up exceedingly confused, laid out on the uncomfortable carpet that certainly hadn't been in the Potter household, with two people who certainly weren't the Potters stood over him. For a moment, the three of them had stared at one another in shock, Regulus' brain whirling, trying to produce an answer as to why he was laid out before two strangers, two people he'd never seen before in his life.

They'd stared at one another for several moments, two pairs of dull blue eyes clashing with brilliant, unnatural green, before the man had finally snarled something out to the woman, low enough that Regulus hadn't been able to catch the words that were said.

His mind was still tripping over itself, wondering why he was here, why it wasn't Potter and Lily Evans welcoming this small body to the afterlife. Or hell, even the father of his past body.

And why in heavens name was the carpet beneath his shoulder blades so damningly uncomfortable?

"We can't Vernon! They'll come for us if we do anything!"

"Then we'll just have to stamp the magic out of him then!"

The words caught Regulus' attention, and his eyes flickered over to look at the man, brow crinkling with confusion. Stamp the magic out of him? That didn't sound pleasant.

Had Regulus been of a sounder mind in that moment, instead of still reeling over his latest brush with death, he'd have realized those six words would set the tone for his new childhood.

 

 

 

After a week of lying around, of acting the baby and trying to muddle through just what was going on, Regulus found himself finally garnering enough mental focus to start figuring out just what was going on around him.

First and foremost on his list of mysteries, he was alive. Survived the killing curse. Already his brain throbbing with all the implications, all the potential pitfalls of exploring that little bit of information.

The killing curse could be beaten. It was the stuff of wizarding dreams. On a level with Nicholas Flamel and his famous stone.

Gritting his teeth, Regulus sat himself up, looking around the small living room where he'd been sat on the floor while attempting to locate a piece of paper and some form of drawing utensil. He needed to write everything down, before he forgot it. It was only once he'd managed to get his hands on a crayon that the former Death Eater realized he could do no such thing. If his notes were found, they'd know instantly that he wasn't a normal baby.

So, it looked like he'd be utilizing his Occlumency once again in order to remember anything and everything of importance. He had no delicate instruments with which to conduct his research, and though he'd have preferred to study the cursed scar as thoroughly as possible while when only a short amount of time had passed since he'd been hit, that clearly wasn't going to happen.

So he'd have to make do with what he had now -his hands, brain, magic and a reflective surface- it wasn't like the cursed scar was going anywhere after all. There'd always be time to look into it.

Shuffling closer to the perfectly buffered marble fireplace, Regulus stared into the surface, twisting his head this way and that to get a better look at his reflection. Bright green eyes, Lily Evans' eyes stared back at him framed by thick black lashes and dark wisps of overgrown baby hair. Potter's bird's nest. Wonderful. He'd have to grow it out a bit until it got to the point it'd be weighing itself down.

"…a good day at work; I'm going to bath Dudders. And maybe the boy."

The last part was grumbled, and Regulus slowly turned his head to look at the source. His new caretaker, it would appear, was this woman. Petunia Evans, or whatever surname she'd taken on upon marrying the fat muggle with obvious anger issues.

Regulus squared his jaw in thought, baby fine milk teeth pressing against the smooth flesh of his lips as he sucked in his cheeks.

He'd never have guessed Lily's sister was so uninspiring a person. Lily Evans had been an extraordinary woman, a clear academic that broke boundaries, and she had died a hero's death. Regulus felt honoured to be related to one such as her in this life.

To be related to Petunia though? Not so much.

She held such an obvious disdain for him too.

Jealously. She was jealous of her sister, the sister who'd gotten the looks, the brains, the magic. And now she was projecting that upon him.

Frowning, Regulus pursed his lips and got to his feet, toddling over to the living room door and watching the man Lily Evans' sister had married leave without so much of a backwards glance.

He didn't like the sound of a bath. The parents of this body had figured out that he could not stand baths in the least. But now, now, Potter and Lily Evans were dead.

It made his chest ache, his rib cage tighten to know they were both gone from this world. Evans could have had so much more to give, and well, Potter had made her happy. Somehow. He still wasn't quite sure how Potter had managed to land such a brilliant witch.

All Regulus knew was that he had clearly missed something in the world, hadn't been looking at it right. Can't have been looking at it right, if he'd missed the genius that was Lily Evans. Who knew what else had slipped by him? What else he'd missed? Was it possible that-

His thoughts were broken my a scream and Regulus' head snapped around to look at Petunia, who was staring down at him in thinly veiled disgust.

"What are you doing out of the living room!" Hands clamped down on his sides, lifting him into the air and Regulus squirmed in discomfort.

This was not going to be pleasant.

 

 

 

It only got worse from there. When Regulus spotted the full bath, he felt his body freeze, limbs clamping down beside his torso and his breath came in shallow, sharp gasps. If Petunia noticed, she didn't care.

The water was closing in around him now, lapping at his ribcage and around the sides of his skull and Regulus couldn’t draw a breath in. His lungs seemed to be closing up, clenching shut and protesting, refusing to let him draw breath.

Because if he tried he'd inhale water and the cold, moulting hands were around his ankles again, wrapping around his waist and dragging him under, down further into the depths and he wasn't getting up.

He was barely aware of the scream that was echoing through the room, his scream. Didn't recognise the second one at all.

In his panic, Regulus failed not notice his magic lashing out, desperate to protect him from the perceived threat. The water began flowing free of the bath, passing right through the porcelain sides as if it weren't there at all. The sounds of rushing water only made Regulus' chest tighten up that much more, panicking thickening in his brain until he found himself passing out.

 

 

 

_"…ridiculous. The kind of power levels that would take…"_

_"…not a normal boy…. too much of it…"_

_"…already wiped her memory…this is what's best…"_

_"…will protect him… worry…"_

 

 

 

Regulus knew he'd had his memory wiped.

He knew instantly on waking up that someone had played about in his mind, as if it were their playground to mould and not his private sanctuary. He could catch brief, short glimpses of the conversation that'd been happening around him while they played about with his mind. But while he was unconscious, he'd been unable to defend against such an intrusion, and without a wand, he couldn’t undo the damage.

The voices, they'd been familiar. But he couldn’t identify them.

Clearly he had to have know them from a past life, because there were few he'd interacted with during this one.

Tiny hands pressed into the rough mattress beneath him and Regulus pushed himself up, looking around. Brilliant green eyes took in his surroundings with a nervous edge, before he finally managed to put together where he was.

Then, righteous fury burned through his limbs, powered him forwards.

They have gotten him a small crib. A small crib they had put in the under stairs cupboard.

Regulus was furious. And when he was furious, so was his magic. This wild, untrained magic -and there was so very much of it, why was there so much of it?- burst free from his body and he heard things crackle, pop and explode at the same time his consciousness waivered.

When had he last eaten? Had he been fed before that bath? After it? His sluggish and tampered brain struggled to provide the answer.

More importantly though; where was Sirius? Sirius was suppose to be the godfather of this body, he was suppose to take care of it in the case of his parents deaths. So where was he?

Regulus physically reached out, as if to catch his magic before it could begin lashing out again, begin tearing around the world around him in his distress. Had something happened to him? Something had to have happened to him, because there was no way Sirius, who had loved him as much as Lily Evans and Potter had, would ever leave him to this place. Not if he could say otherwise.

And there was only one thing that would stop Sirius. 

A wail tore through Regulus' throat, and this time, he didn't bother to stop it. No matter how much he tried to believe otherwise, he knew Sirius wasn't coming. He'd have been here already otherwise.

His heart ached, because his brother was dead.

Sirius was dead, probably taken down by the panicked, leaderless Death Eaters. Sirius, his older brother who'd always looked out for him - _notatHogwartsneveratHogwarts_ \- was gone.

He didn't stop his crying, not as Petunia's brutish husband ranted, raved and roared for him to be silent. The burning, painful ache in his chest seemed as if it would never die, as if it had taken the place his beating heart should have rested.

 

 

 

The next four years passed by in a blur. Regulus was in no way content. It hurt, every breath he took, every step he made, every mile stone he passed was just another reminder he was alone here. Trapped in the muggle world, with relatives that missed no opportunity to verbally beat him down, to neglect him and attempt to constantly undermine his self worth.

It infuriated him on some days, but then there were days that passed and gained nothing more than a flicker of interest. He was finding it hard to believe there was anything worth fighting for, to drum up the willpower to keep pressing on with this life.

On some days, deep sated desire to lash out at the muggles he was forced to live with ripped through him, and his magic acted on impulse. He'd destroyed the under stairs cupboard -and consequently, the stairs and hallway around it- in a fit of rage, magic lashing out and blasting wood apart, burning walls and floor and leaving himself sat untouched in the centre of the wreckage.

He'd been awake this time when Albus Dumbledore, of all people, came and fixed up the damage. He'd been awake this time as Dumbledore memory charmed the Dursleys, as the man turned that wand on him as well. But this time he hadn't been defenceless. He might not have a wand, his untrained magic might not stand a chance, but his Occlumency still remained.

He deflected the memory charm into an untouched corner of his mind, letting his eyes slide shut and his face drop into confusion, praying that it'd be enough to fool Dumbledore. The man wouldn't be expecting a child to throw off his memory charm like it was nothing, and evidently he was quite right in that regard. The man left minutes later.

The next day, Regulus found himself in one of the bedrooms upstairs. At the very least the man had forced his relatives into giving him a real room.

Anger's flames still licked hot in his veins these days, unable to understand how Lily Evans had come to be related to such odious people. How he was related to them. Did Evans not have any decent relatives? Was this all she had?

Gritting his teeth from where he was stood by the school gates, Regulus stared into the depths of this muggle school and knew instinctively it would be nothing like Hogwarts. God he missed Hogwarts. He missed the Wizarding World. He wanted to go back. He didn't want to be here.

As Petunia gave his obese cousin a kiss, Regulus turned on his heels, walking away from the only blood relations that seemed to be capable of looking after him, however begrudgingly.

His hair hand grown since his days as a toddler, now coming down to rest at his shoulders with the slightest of curls to it. A mixture of Evans' influence and the Black heritage that Potter had. The grandmother of this body was a Black after all. He was finally starting to feel like himself again, now that he had something resembling his old hairstyle.

Petunia had tried cutting his hair, cutting it as close to the scalp as she could. But it'd grown back overnight, had refused to be beaten by the muggle. And for that, Regulus was thankful.

True he probably had the longest hair of all the males present at this educational institution, but he couldn't care less. Shoulder length hair, with the slightest curl, that was who he was. And he'd be damned to let anyone take that away from him, to let them make fun of him for it.

Tightening his hold on the ratty backpack -and didn't the pureblood part of him cringe, cringe to know that he was in second hand clothes. Not because his caretakers were poor but because he was nothing more than a burden- Regulus walked up to the soft looking muggle at the front of the school doors, coming to a stop before her.

It took her a second to notice him, and Regulus waited patiently as she assessed his form. No doubt coming to the conclusion that he was from a rough background by the cut of his clothes, even if his hair was carefully styled.

"And you are sweetie?"

Grimacing at the nickname, Regulus looking up at the woman, offering thanks to every god out there that his eyes weren't blocked by glasses, like he'd feared they would be as a baby. She seemed startled by his eyes, and he understood.

Every time he caught sight of his reflection, even now after spending five years in this body, he was caught by surprise. The green eyes were just that little bit too vibrant, just that little bit too bright. Even bright than what Lily's had been. He'd theorized it was left over energy from the killing curse, some undercurrent effect that'd been building over time.

There was no other way to explain the fact he'd not gotten Lily Evans' emerald eyes, but emeralds to looked as if they'd been dropped into a liquefied killing curse.

He really liked the new eyes, they would give anyone in the Wizarding World a pause.

"Re-Harry Potter."

It took him a moment to remember his new name. The Dursleys mostly referred to him as 'boy', so it really wasn't that a surprise that he'd not come to fully associate the name 'Harry Potter' with himself yet. In his mind, he was still Regulus, would forever be Regulus. He refused to drop that, to forget about the life he'd led before, about the life he'd had before. All that he'd learned, the sacrifices he'd made to help create a better Wizarding World.

Even if no one knew about what he'd done.

"Okay then Mr Potter, you're in class 1A with me, so if you'll join that line," the young woman pointed to the line just to the left of her and Regulus nodded, making his way over and observing the children as he went past.

Not one of them seemed to have a spark of intelligence in their eyes, he couldn't find it anywhere. They were just regular children, clumped together and clearly quite nervous about their first day of school. Tears gathered in eyes, some streaming down cheeks. One child was screaming that he didn't want to go-

Oh wait, that was Dudley.

Grimacing at his relation, Regulus slipped seamlessly into line, trying to mentally prepare himself for what was about to come.

 

 

 

It was as he feared. School was easy. Far too easy.

The only thing that could really hold his interest was the unidentifiable muggle objects he had yet to see, and their numbers were rapidly dipping as he went about through his second life.

He had finished the test in disguise in the first ten minutes; it had been nothing more than child's play. Then, he'd proceeded to flip the sheet over and being writing out his conclusions regarding the cursed scar upon his forehead in Latin.

Even if the muggles read Latin, they wouldn't be able to understand his words in the right context, being non magicals as they were. He was not looking forwards to spending the next six years of his life here. It was a terrifying prospect, having to remain here for that long, bored out of his mind. Maybe he'd just have to find something to entertain himself with.

Already he could speak Latin and French, having been taught from a young age as a member of the House of Black. Luckily, that wasn't a skill that had left him in the transition to this new body.

His motor skills were a different matter, he'd been slowly building them up, training himself to be ambidextrous. This body seemed naturally inclined to perform with its right hand, but his previous one had been left handed. So he would work both, and then when he felt like he was losing himself, he could reconnect with a past aspect of his previous life.

So far, he'd gotten to the point where he could write in his own handwriting, just that it was infinitely slower, seeing as he was determined to get the strokes of each letter right. He would not be reduced to the cave markings that passed as a child's handwriting.

Once he'd noted down the conclusions he'd made of regarding the killing curse's scar, Regulus was quick to scribble it all out, instead turning to spell creation, breaking down the components of the killing curse in an attempt to figure out how Lily Evans had found an in with which to link her blood runes.

All spells were made up of a collection of numbers, and the spells origins depended upon the meanings one used for the numbers. Luckily, Regulus had always had a bit of a fascination with the dark arts, had broken down the unforgivable before. Just, not with the intention of subverting them. His pencil flew across the page, breaking down Avada Kedavra into a small collection of numbers, some sectioned off from others. The amount of letters, the amount of vowels, the amount of milliseconds taken to pronounce the spell, the amount of inches a wand would need to move for the wand movements, everything was taken into consideration.

And still, he could only find the slightest openings in the otherwise tightly knit spell work, nothing big enough to slip protections into. That was how Protego worked, slipping into the spell network when it impacted against the physical barrier and either destroying it or reflecting it back. A genius, the creator of Protego. To manage to cover so many spells to defend against, the inventor had to be a different breed of genius.

Regulus had a sneaking suspicion that Lily Evans fell into such a category the more he looked over the killing curse and it's intricate network of numbers. She couldn't have slipped in a defence, not in the network he was seeing. So she had to have broken a piece of Avada Kedavra framework open in order to slot in her blood defence. Pure brilliant.

Regulus let out a surprised breath, looking down at the paper before him. He'd found the most obvious opening, the one Lily had to have taken advantage of. He'd found it. This was what Evans had done, this was how he had survived. Now he just needed to see the actual blood runes she'd used to create her defence, and maybe he'd be able to improve on it. To fully understand what had happened that night.

"…rry…Ha…Harry?"

Startling when it registered that he was the one with that name, that he was the one being addressed, Regulus blinked doltishly, turning his gaze to his addressor.

"Yes?"

"Are you finished?"

Looking back down at the paper, Regulus quickly stored the location of the opening in his head, giving a nod and flipping the paper back over.

"I am."

The teacher, Miss Dance she'd introduced herself by, took the sheet from him, looking at the numbers on the back and clearly not making head or tails of them.

"Right then class, it's break time. I'll call you all back in when break's over."

Slowly, Regulus got to his feet, exiting the classroom at the same time as the other children. But, instead of following the masses out towards the blacktop that served as a playground, Regulus turned his attention inwards, walking further down the corridor and into the heart of the school.

A library was what he was looking for, and while he was pretty damn sure that he wouldn't be finding any books that provided some form of intellectual stimulus, he could hope.

 

 

 

He found something great. The library -if it could even be called such a thing- was a dismal waste of time.

The small room that was locked just a bit further down the corridor however, was not.

On his tiptoes, he'd been able to peek in through the glass, to see the musical instruments that lay littered around the room. He'd not had enough time during break to venture inside, but he planned to. He ate lunch quickly, a meal far from the standards of his previous life -Petunia had been forced to pay for his school dinners thankfully- but filling regardless.

And then, he'd slipped out the dinner hall, taking note of the amount of time he had. Fifty minutes until the next class began, fifty minutes to himself.

At long last, no Petunia hanging around his shoulder, snapping at him to weed the front yard. Regulus had let his magic kill the garden that day. Nothing was growing in it now. Vernon had been forced to pay a man to returf it and he'd never been asked to perform such a manual job again.

But now it was just him on his own. His magic reacted to his desire and the room was unlocked, allowing Regulus to pass through the threshold without any problems.

Musical instruments were scattered all over the place. A recorder, a flute, a piano and-

Regulus stopped, before reaching out for the instrument. A violin. His fingers ran across the worn wood, taking note of the little scratches on the surface, the strings that weren't as tight as they should be.

Immediately he went about fixing that, the sharp strings hard beneath his soft fingers. This body had never played before, hadn't built up the calluses that his old one had. Regardless, Regulus placed the instrument between his chin and shoulder, taking note that it was a child's version and still just an inch or so too big for him. But he would make do.

Even though he hadn't played much since joining the Death Eaters, hadn't played at all since he'd been born into this body, he could still remember everything he'd done before. Even if this body wasn't trained to move as fluidly as his old one did, with concentration, he could force it to perform the correct melody, a simple one from the Wizarding World. The first one he'd ever been taught. All the more dramatic ones, the advanced ones, would be out of his reach until he could relearn this skill. But he would.

He missed making music, missed the release it gave.

Drawing the bow across the strings, Regulus let his eyes drift shut. Only to snap them open when he missed a note, fingers not prepared to form the correct movements. It would appear that he needed to keep his eyes open for this then. How irritating.

As he played, Regulus let his mind wander, never far from making sure his fingers fell in the right place in this slow melody, but enough to consider his life as it was now.

He was the reborn Regulus Arcturus Black. He was Harry James Potter, orphaned son of James Potter and Lily Evans. Survivor of the killing curse. A wizard, and he would be attending Hogwarts come his eleventh birthday. He needed a game plan by then. He couldn't rely upon anybody but himself right now.

Voldemort had come after him, for what reason Regulus didn't know. Perhaps the man had found out that Harry Potter was the reborn soul of the traitor Regulus Black. The man who'd successfully stolen his Horcrux. It didn't matter if Voldemort knew or not, it was safest to work under the assumption that he did. If he didn't, then Regulus acting more careful than normal would have no adverse side effects.

He needed information, was Voldemort still around? As far as he knew, there had been no reported attacks on the muggle world like there had been before his death; the Dursleys liked to have the news on during the day, to keep up with current events. The muggle world was calm, calmer than anything he'd have been expecting while there was a war going on.

Why would Voldemort stop?

A terribly delicious idea occurred to him.

Was it possible that Lily Potter had not only managed to protect him from the killing curse, but to bounce it back on the originator of the curse? Like a Protego? Did he dare hope for such a thing?

Pleasure curled about in Regulus' stomach, but he forcefully pushed it down.

No, it was best to assume for now that Voldemort was alive. Even if he had been hit by his own killing curse -and oh, did he desperately hope that was so- he still didn't know if Kreacher had managed to destroy the Horcrux. That was something he needed to check up on, and soon. As soon as possible really.

Dear god he needed some information. And his usual sources were out.

Voldemort had identified him as an enemy, regardless of if he had discovered Harry Potter was in actuality Regulus Black. He didn't just shooting killing curses at anybody after all.

Which meant he was now an open enemy of the Death Eaters. None of them would speak to him, especially about the war. Not only was he the enemy now, but he was a five year old child. They'd probably dismiss him before he could even open his mouth.

That left him one credible source. Kreacher.

Kreacher, who would probably be working under his mother now. He had to find a way to speak to Kreacher. So he needed to find a way to get to London. To Grimmauld Place. He just needed to figure out a way to accomplish this task.

"Harry?"

The bow screeched across the strings as Regulus jumped, turning to look at the source of the voice. Miss Dance -and really, she couldn't be any older than twenty five- was staring at him in shock. No, not just him, but him and the violin.

"Was that you playing, just now?"

Slowly, Regulus nodded, readjusting his stance and glancing at the clock from the corner of his eyes. He still have ten minutes until lesson started, ten more minutes to practice.

"Have you had lessons before?"

Regulus started playing again, focused on his fingers as he did so.

"No, I haven't."

At least, not in this body.

"Well next time you want to come into the music room, please come and get me first. Otherwise I'll have to give you a detention."

 

 

 

 

The afternoon passed by quickly. He could almost tell when the muggle teacher got to his answers, because her head snapped up to look at him in disbelief before returning to look over his words, mouthing his answers to herself with obvious shock across her face.

Currently, it was 'art time'. A pitiful excuse to just let the children roam free across the classroom with a variety of utensils within their grasps. While they went about making a mess of their paper, themselves and the surrounding area, Regulus sat, completely focused. 

He was practicing his runes, though he didn't dare attempt to start on blood runes. Not without a reference book before him; he wasn't confident enough in blood runes to attempt it without one.

Slowly, he sketched the Sowilo onto the paper careful with each line he made. He could feel the void it created, begging for him to fill it up with just a little bit of magic, to pour just that little bit in. Then it would offer health and victory to whomever carried it around with them. Or rather, just a small boost. Nothing that would stop a person dying from a terminal disease, or stop a person from winning a battle against a far more skilled opponent. But something such as stop a small cold? That wasn't beyond the rune.

He didn't put any magic into it though, instead moving on to the next in the runic alphabet.

Slowly, he began to weave them together, into the basic scheme for a ward against ill intent. Possibly the easiest ward known to wizarding kind. It wouldn't stop the approach of one with ad intentions, but it would alert the one the wards were tied to. He was going to have to learn how to stitch at some point, so that he'd be able to add things like this to his clothing. The idea of being able to hold simple wards on his clothing had struck him when watching Petunia sew up one of Dudley's tops, the seams having given up on holding the boy's excess fat beneath its fabric covering.

"Ah, Harry?"

Finishing off the final stroke to Othala, Regulus turned his gaze towards Miss Dance, who was looking down at his sheet with startled eyes. He knew what she was seeing, strange markings ordered together. Something that only made sense to him, an alphabet she no doubt believe unique to him.

"Yes?"

"Your answers were very good," her voice cracked a bit, eyes drifting down to the sheet in question that rested in her hand, "would you like to take the violin home? We don't have anyone else using it in school, I could speak to your mother."

Regulus cringed.

"My mother is dead. You'll have to speak to my aunt instead. She's the one that looks after me."

And he used the term 'look after' very loosely. Miss Dance's expression fell a bit, but she gave a sharp nod, indicating that she would in fact speak to Petunia when the day was over.

Internally, Regulus pondered over how such a meeting would go. He doubted his aunt would be happy to know that her nephew was so talented, so smart, in comparison to her own son. But if Regulus played this right, she wouldn't be able to get away without admitting it.

He just needed an audience.

Petunia's neurotic desire to be seen as perfection by those around her would play right into his game here. Drumming his fingers across the table, Regulus went back to practicing his runes absentmindedly, the rest of him finally starting to focus on what he was going to do with this life.

First and foremost, Voldemort needed to be dealt with. All those precious to him were dead now, so Regulus would take it upon himself to see the madman dead. James Potter and Lily Evans had given their lives to make sure he would live, and so, live Regulus would. He'd do their memory proud, he'd become the greatest wizard of the age, to honour the woman who could have been so much more had she been given the chance to grow, had she not been cut down . He'd succeed her.

The Sorting Hat had once said he was destined for greatness, and that was why he'd been placed within Slytherin. Years ago, he'd believed his great finally moment would be taking down the Horcrux of the Dark Lord.

But now he had a feeling he could do better.

He could take the Dark Lord down. He was the only one that knew of the Horcrux, he had the knowledge to do such a thing. And he would.

He'd avenge Potter and Lily.

Then he'd let himself chase after all those brilliant ideas that came to mind throughout the day. Once he was safe again. Goal set, Regulus ran his tongue across his lip as he finished off the final line of Uruz.

He would endure, and then, he would thrive.

 

 

 

As planned, he caught Petunia when she was surrounded by a gaggle of other mothers, fawning over the gaudy pearls that sat upon her collarbones. Her face tightened when she saw him approaching with a teacher in tow, eyes sharpening as she looked around for Dudley.

Regulus let out a low breath, allowing his mind to adjust to the part he had to play before all these other mothers.

"Aunt Petunia!" He called, making sure to add a bit of emotion into his voice, instead of the apathy he'd taken to using with the muggle members of his family.

Her hand twitched, but she nevertheless turned her full attention to both himself and Miss Dance, who to his surprise, was pulling the violin from the case.

"Miss Dance says I can take the violin home with me if that's okay?"

"Your nephew is incredibly talented Miss Dursley, not just at music, but his answers- I'm going to be speaking to the principle about moving him up a year or two. It's, well, will you play for us Harry?"

It was as he'd expected. Petunia didn't look happy at all about his 'genius', but the mothers all around her cooed, seemingly awed by his supposed brilliance already. Plucking up the instrument, Regulus carefully positioned it, fingers dancing across the bow before he brought that to place.

And then he began to play. The same melody as before, careful to keep it as perfect as this small, untrained body would allow him to get it.

But as he played, keeping half an eye on the gathering adults. They all seemed impressed, which was excellent news.

Because now Petunia couldn’t deny him without appearing as if she was stifling his natural talent. She'd been bragging of the money Vernon brought home too, so she wouldn't be able to have Dudley break the violin and state they couldn't afford to get him a new one either. She'd trapped herself quite effectively and Regulus could feel vindictive pleasure curl around in his stomach as he ruthlessly took advantage of such a thing.

Well, he was a Slytherin after all.

 

 

 

Vernon was furious when the first report cards came home a month after term. He hit the roof when the end of the school year reports came home.

They had denied the schools request to move him up a grade, citing that they felt it was best that their nephew be able to still associate with children his own age. They had both been pretty smug over that, but their faces had fallen a bit when he'd return with a form from Miss Dance enquiring if she would be able to keep him an hour after school to practice piano.

Regulus had never learned how to play, but he was interested. And to get back at the Dursleys, who so hated to see him flourish, it was well worth the effort.

They couldn't deny him and they knew it, already he was known as a musical genius in the neighbourhood, the kind that had a natural talent. They thought he was going to be the next big thing in classical music, that he was going to put their tiny neighbourhood on the map.

None of them seemed inclined to help him when they saw the Dursleys obvious signs of neglect, so he felt no inclination to ever associate himself with this place. It was a temporary stop on his way to Hogwarts. A necessary one he couldn’t get out of.

Regardless, that didn't change the fact his relatives were bubbling cesspools of anger upon noting his report card. Tests aimed for children were abysmally easy for his adult brain, and he was not only gaining 100% on every test, but getting extra credit as well. Slated as the most intelligent child they'd had at the school, and while Regulus knew he was in fact an adult, it didn't stop him from being smug.

Even if the teachers did seem confused over his blatant ignorance of simple muggle customs, simple facts all muggles seemed to know.

Apparently they had something called the 'Seven Wonders of the World', and while some were simple feats accomplished by the help of wizards, others caught Regulus' interest. He'd always wanted to visit the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, which had been absorbed into the wizarding world when the muggles had been threatening to destroy them. He'd never quite gotten around to it, though perhaps this time he would get a chance to go and see them.

Someday he wanted to go and visit Atlantis too, if the Atlanteans who'd sealed the continent off ever decided to reopen it. The rumours of natural magic there made him shiver with anticipation. Merlin he wanted to have a look around there.

Regardless, he was getting off topic. There were plenty of places to explore, plenty of places he wanted to visit within the world.

"What about Mrs Figg?"

Regulus grimaced at the mention of the squib. Oh, he recognised a Kneazle when he saw one. And he saw dozens over there. His watcher perhaps, on Dumbledore's orders. Dumbledore had to know a bit about Lily's protection upon him, had to have guessed a little about the blood runes that shielded him from the killing curse. That didn't mean Regulus was pleased to have been left here.

But if it kept him safe from Voldemort, who was he to complain..

Who was he kidding, he wanted out. And today, there might be a chance today.

"No good, she's out of town on business."

"You mean we have to take the little brat with us?!" Vernon's tone incredulous as he stared at his wife, ignorant of Regulus, who was sat upon the stairs and watching all these proceedings with a vague, detached sort of interest.

"We don't have a choice Vernon!"

"All the way to London Pet?"

"Would you rather leave him with in the house? On his own?!"

And that was that.

 

 

 

He knew instantly when they were nearing Grimmauld Place, recognised the streets that had been his childhood. His father had apperated them from that block over there, beneath that lamp post.

His magic reacted instantly, the car's engine spluttering to a halt. Regulus could feel his heart beating wildly in his chest, because this was it.

This was his out.

He could finally be free of these people, because Grimmauld Place would never show itself for muggles. Grimmauld Place was safe. He could sneak in, could crank up the wards until they were higher than they'd ever been before. No one would be able to find him, no tracking charms would work, and while they may think to find out just where about the muggles had lost him, what kind of wizarding houses were around there, never would they be able to enter Grimmauld Place.

He would be free.

The car door was thrown open with little thought, Regulus all but ripping the seatbelt from his chest. While cars were comfortable for transportation, they were so slow compared to anything in the wizarding world. He was glad to be free of it.

"Get back here you little Freak!"

Regulus cocked his head back to look at the Dursleys for the last time, taking in the furious red that Vernon was turning, the way his meaty hands wrestled with the seat belt restraining him to the chair, attempting and failing to free himself.

And Regulus laughed as he fled pushing people from his path of flight and ignoring their cries of shock or outrage. His feet, clad in the ratty trainers that Petunia had begrudgingly given him, hit the pavement one after the other, each a step further from the lifestyle he'd been trapped in for so long.

He rounded the corner, eyes widening with brilliant hope as he saw Grimmauld Place Sat neatly between two clean muggle houses, it appeared darker, blacker, in every way possible. Tears sprang to the corner of his eyes as such a familiar sight, and while he'd never been particular attached to the place, right now, it was home. This before him was home.

Darting up the front steps, Regulus came to a stop before the large, dark door, hands shaking as his fingers curled into fists. This was it. Right here, right now, he was stood before the only magical place that offered nothing but safety. Sucking in a low breath and well aware of the way his heart was thrumming about in his ribcage, Regulus released the air in his lungs and tapped at the door.

Kreacher would be home.

Mother had moved out just after Regulus had left school, spending the last of his father's days with him in Black manor. He couldn’t see her returning to this place without him. Which left it empty, nothing but Kreacher would be here. Kreacher was tied to the Black family, but Grimmauld Place was his domain.

Kreacher would be here.

The door creaked open and Regulus stepped inside.

 

 

 

It was as dark and gloomy as he remembered. What he wasn't expecting to hear was the oh so delicate tones of Walburga Black.

"Who is it Kreacher? Who dares come inside the house of my forefathers?"

Regulus blinked, staring into the corridor and noting the portrait hanging on the hallway. Had, had Walburga Black, the mother of his previous body, passed? Was she dead?

Turmoil whirled around him, because more and more people from his past life were dying. God, how could Voldemort ever wish to be immortal? How could he think to stand this? Wait, Voldemort!

"Kreacher, did you destroy the Horcrux! Did you destroy it?!" Regulus turned wild green eyes on the house elf, armed with an iron poker from the fireplace, and watched as he almost dropped the weapon in shock.

"Wh-What?"

"Kreacher, it's me, Regulus. I, something happened, I didn't die right, but did you destroy the Horcrux?"

He'd fully entered the house now, kicking the door shut behind him and went about ignoring the snarling questions his mother's portrait was voicing. Instead, he dropped to his knees before Kreacher, taking the elf by the shoulders and looking into his eyes, praying that his friend would see the truth in his eyes. It was beyond thought, even in the wizarding world, it was no wonder Kreacher looked stunned.

"Ma-Master Regulus is dead," Kreacher spoke slowly, but Regulus could pick out the dawning hope, fragile and delicate as it was, that was beginning to rise within Kreacher's eyes.

Regulus swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat, shaking his head as he did so.

"It's a necklace, Salazar Slytherin's necklace. I ordered up to leave and destroy it. I swear on my magic I was once Regulus Arcturus Black." A slow, golden glow flickered to life around his body, and the next thing Regulus knew, he was on the floor, a bundle of sobbing house-elf in his arms.

His mother was still shrieking, demanding to know what a Horcrux was, if it was really Regulus, but the reborn son of the House of Black blocked it all out, focusing on comforting the one friend that'd been there till the end.

 

 

 

A half hour passed before Kreacher finally managed to pull himself together. Regulus didn't mind, sat on the floor as he was, Kreacher in his lap. The house elf felt unnaturally frail in his arms, all sharp ribs and thin limbs as he was. Regulus hadn't seen him for years, but it was clear that during that time Kreacher had suffered. He hoped it wasn't guilt that had dragged his most trusted friend down.

He had to move them to the drawing room to escape his mother's screeches, not quite able to look at her yet.

What would she think? Here he was, still the son she'd raised, but no longer the son she'd birthed. He was a Potter now, a half-blood. How would she react, knowing that his soul was the same, but the body he'd come to inhabit was 'lesser' in her eyes?

Not that Regulus believed it was.

Lily Evans, he couldn't have asked for a better mother really. She'd given her life to make sure he lived, and as much as it ate at his insides, Regulus wasn't too sure if Walburga would have done that. Could he really consider her his mother anymore, when in truth, that was really Lily Evans? While he would not really be capable of separating the red-head in Gryffindor from the lioness that'd protected him from Voldemort, maybe he could acknowledge her as such. The mother of this body.

Which meant Walburga was no longer his mother, not in that sense. She had been a woman who raised him in his first life, had been his biological mother in that life. But Lily Evans was his mother in this one.

Grimacing over the strange thoughts, Regulus pushed them back, instead focusing on the new source of information before him.

"Kreacher, what happened to the Dark Lord? I remember him casting the killing curse at me, but beyond that-"

Kreacher pulled back slightly, huge eyes wider than normal as he dared to reach out and brush the stray lock covering Regulus' forehead back. A sharp breath.

"Master Regulus is Harry Potter?" It came out more of a croak, disbelief, and Regulus was instantly on guard.

The scar was common knowledge? How? Dumbledore maybe, it'd explain why he always came to cover up his more exciting bouts of 'accidental magic'. But would that not just make him more of target in the dark community?

"Master does not know?" Kreacher seemed puzzled, cocking his head to a side before seemingly noticing that he was sat upon Regulus' lap, and hurried to stand.

"The killing curse bounced off of Master! Master is the Boy Who Lived, they say he killed Voldemort! But Kreacher failed, Kreacher could not destroy the locket!"

Then, he burst into tears.

Mind whirling, Regulus just pulled Kreacher into another hug. The killing curse had rebounded on Voldemort? The world thought he was dead? The Boy Who Lived? The Prophet was to blame for that one no doubt.

But still, Voldemort's body was destroyed, though his Horcrux was not. Which meant if he got the right resources, he would be able to come back, to return to the land of the living because his Horcrux was still tethering him to this world.

He needed a way to destroy it.

He needed to run some tests, he needed to study his scar and he needed to use a pensive before he forgot anything more regarding Lily Evans' blood runes. 

"Kreacher, calm down. If Voldemort's curse backfired on him, that means he doesn't have a body right now. We've got time to figure this out."

Running a hand through his hair, the reborn Black relaxed, laying himself back down on the wooden flooring.

It wasn't as bad as he'd thought. Voldemort was gone, and with the Wizarding World believing he was dead, then the Death Eaters would have been hunted down.

Gritting his teeth, Regulus got to his feet, mentally cataloguing everything he needed to get done.

"Okay Kreacher, I need you to do three things. First, get that portrait of Mother off the wall and into the attic under a suspension charm. I can't deal with her right now, god knows how she'll react now that I'm a half blood."

At this, Kreacher's face fell slightly, before he shook his head furiously.

"Master Regulus is still Master Regulus."

"Well said. Second, I want the wards on this place cranked as high as we can get them. Finally, I need a big piece of paper, an inkwell, and a thickly pointed quill."

"Yes Master."

As Kreacher disappeared with a pop, Regulus got to his feet and began pushing the furniture around, the sofas up against the wall and leaving a large open space on the floor for him to work with. Enough space for  a piece of paper enlarged to become bigger than him.

He had a mind map to create.

 

 

 

 

The paper was full of information. Between himself and Kreacher, who was much more up-to-date on public information than he was, they had all the notes they could on the Death Eaters.

Voldemort was dead.

Regulus had already put down all the information he remembered from Lily Evans' blood runes and what had happened that night, having used the Black Family pensive for reference. Kreacher had scribbled down all the Death Eaters that'd been acquitted or incarcerated, along with their most known worst crimes.

Regulus had wrote all he knew about the Horcrux, and Kreacher had noted all the magic he'd tried to destroy it with, but failed. It was a depressingly long list.

Stepping back from the map, Regulus let his eyes trail over all the information, already running through the privacy spells that he could use in order to hide all of this from prying eyes. He needed to learn the Fidelius Charm really, and quickly. Speaking of charms-

"Kreacher, my wand. You had my wand, can you get it?"

The elf nodded, apperating away and then appearing again a second later, holding what was certainly a sight for sore eyes. Laurel handle and Silver Lime body, phoenix feather core, it was wonderful to see his wand again.

It was just a shame it didn't appear to agree.

On one hand, he was a different person now, had experienced different things. Had a different name and a different bloodline. But he had been hopeful that his wand would still choose him again. It seemed it'd been an ill-fated idea. But still, while the wand didn't hum in his hand as it once had, it seemed agreeable. It'd work with him, though it would never be with the same ease as before.

Nonetheless, it'd have to do. It's not like could get another until he turned eleven anyway.

Scanning the labour of his and Kreacher's work, Regulus paused on one name, mouth popping open slightly as he reread the words for a second time. And then a third, just to be sure he was actually reading the right thing.

"Kreacher, why in Merlin's name is Sirius in prison?"

Sirius was alive. Thank Salazar. He was alive and still around and he hadn't died like he'd thought. He'd never been so pleased to see one of his assumptions proven wrong.

But on the other hand; Sirius was in Azkaban.

Kreacher blinked, bright eyes bulging before he disappeared. Before Regulus could even think to call him back, he reappeared, holding an aging newspaper in his arms. A newspaper with Sirius' screaming face on the front cover.

Not quite able to swallow around the lump in his throat, Regulus quietly asked for a cup of tea, sitting himself down to read.

 

 

 

There was something wrong with the Wizarding World. Sirius wouldn't, couldn’t have betrayed the Potters. It wasn't in his character.

Shaking his head, Regulus threw the newspaper to the ground, curling in on himself where he sat upon the sofa. He needed time, he needed to think. Luckily, he had the first, with the wards of Grimmauld Place right up, no one would find him here No one would be able to find the house, never mind the residents within. So he had the time to think.

Sirius would not betray the Potters.

And even on the miniscule chance he had, if he had been Voldemort's right hand - _Siriuswasn'tVoldemort'she'dneverjointheDeathEatersnever_ \- then surely he'd have wanted to go and finish of his master's work, to kill the last living Potter.

No, something wasn't right here.

But he needed more information, he needed to find the flaws. He needed to know. His to-do list seemed to keep adding up, there always seemed to be a bit more to -do. The more he tried to get started on something, seven more issues appeared.

"Kreacher. I need the trial scripts, of all the Death Eater trials. They should be open to the public, right?"

The house elf nodded, popping away to go and for fill his request. Regulus meanwhile, finally summoned up the urge to get off of the sofa he'd been curled up on.

Straightening out, he stretched himself out, rotating his shoulders around in their sockets before setting off into the hallway.

If he remembered correctly, Mother had never thrown any of their old clothes out, all stored at the bottom of a magically enlarged trunk. For what, Regulus wasn't sure. But it sure was helpful now. Even if some of the styles may be two decades out of date, by Merlin did he want to wear some Wizarding clothing right now.

 

 

 

Brushing his hair back from his face, Regulus made his way up the stairs, stopping just before his open bedroom door. It seemed Kreacher had taken the time to prepare his old room for him while he'd been reading the newspaper. He needed to send Kreacher to get some of the most important issues of the past seven years, so that he didn't miss anything. Just another thing he would need to get done it appeared

Sighing, Regulus made his way over to the little collage of newspaper cuttings, grimacing at the sight. How he could have ever looked up to that monster, he didn't know. Though he was still careful as off the delicate paper as he pulled it down, he made a note to add these to the mind map.

It was always good to have as much information as possible on the enemy.

Scanning the room, Regulus observed that the violins from his previous life, both the child sized one and the adult one were resting against the southern wall.

Looking outside of the window Regulus let his eyes drift over the nights sky, stopping to look in the general location of his own star. Regulus would be visible tonight, if he could be bothered to fetch a telescope that was.

Sighing, Regulus shuffled out of his second hand muggle clothes, making a note to burn them the next day. If Kreacher didn't beat him to it, that was.

Crawling under the covers, Regulus was pleased to feel the warming charm on the sheets, like Kreacher had done every day during his childhood. Their beds had always been warm, a way to combat the seemingly constant chill of Grimmauld Place that their parents insisted on. Neither were around now though, so it'd be one of the first thing Regulus changed about his environment.

He spared a second's thought for the Dursleys, wondering if they were starting to panic now. Not that they'd lost him, but because the Wizards would be coming to ask where he was. He didn't doubt they'd soon notice he was gone, and Regulus planned to keep it that way.

He was not going back. Nothing on this earth return him to that house and make him stay here.

Unsurprisingly, his mind turned to Sirius next. He didn't believe that Sirius would betray the Potters, would kill all those muggles and Pettigrew too. Not that the last two things were hard to accomplish, Sirius had been a talented wizard, and Pettigrew hadn't been a useless wizard so much as he was an ordinary one, an ordinary one surrounded by the extraordinary.

Potter and Sirius had both been exceptionally magically talented. Not to the level that Dumbledore or Voldemort had been, but there had been a serious power gap between them and Pettigrew. Though Lupin hadn't been up to their level, he too had been pretty high above average, and the way he studied allowed him to keep on even footing with the other two Marauders.

No, something wasn't right here, that Regulus didn't doubt. And he would find out what it was.

He'd solve the mystery around Sirius, he'd find a way to destroy the Horcrux.

 

And then he'd figure out what the hell to do about this 'Boy-Who-Lived' rubbish.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the prompt and 'Regulus is the Slytherin Harry Potter that we portray in fanfiction'- Unknown


End file.
